


How the Sourwolf Stole Christmas

by HWWHOC



Series: Pack Storytimes [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Mate Stiles Stilinski, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Derek Needs a Hug, Derek-centric, Emotionally Constipated Derek, F/F, F/M, Gen, Good Peter, M/M, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Parody, Puppy Piles, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:05:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5333477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HWWHOC/pseuds/HWWHOC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A grumpy wolf plots to steal Christmas from the unsuspecting town of Beacon Hills.</p><p>Or,</p><p>Stiles tells the Pack a story that involves Derek being a Grinch.</p><p>Or,</p><p>The Author was bored and decided to warp a classic children's story to his own twisted satisfaction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How the Sourwolf Stole Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> So I was listening to _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ recently and it became inevitable that in a _Teen Wolf_ -verse, Derek would be the Grinch. The dialogue is taken largely from the animated special with several sections clearly altered for both creative purposes and modernization. As for the story's framing device, it was inspired by the _South Park_ episode "Woodland Critter Christmas", although the characters in the within-story do not interact with the narrator.

Everyone down in Beacon Hills liked Christmas a lot.  
But the Sourwolf who lived just North of Beacon Hills did not!  
  
The Sourwolf hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season!  
Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.  
  
It could be, perhaps, that his frown was always tight.  
It could be his head wasn't screwed on just right.  
  
But I think that the most likely reason of all  
May have been that he was an emotionally constipated man who didn't know how to use his words, so he wasn't always right on the ball  
  
But, whatever the reason, his emotional state or his frown  
He stood there on Christmas Eve, hating the town  
  
Staring down from his cave with his patented Sourwolf look  
At the brightly lit windows that looked like they were out of a book  
  
For he knew everyone down in Beacon Hills beneath  
Was busy now hanging a Christmas wreath  
  
"And they're hanging their stockings," he snarled with a sneer.  
"Tomorrow is Christmas! It's practically here!"  
  
Then he growled, with his Sourwolf fingers nervously drumming,  
"I must find some way to keep Christmas from coming!  
  
For, tomorrow, I know all the little girls and boys  
Will wake bright and early. They'll rush for their toys!  
  
And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!  
There's one thing I hate! All the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!  
  
And they'll shriek squeaks and squeals, racing 'round on their wheels..."

 

"Stiles?" Stiles stopped and looked at Isaac, whose head was in Scott's lap. "Why is Derek always the villain of your stories?"  
"Good question." Derek nudged his mate in the side from his spot beside him.  
Stiles sighed and reached out, taking Isaac's hand. "Don't worry, he redeems himself, as always." He shot Derek a wink. Derek simply rolled his eyes.  
"Not when you told us the story of _Sleeping Beauty_ with Derek as the prince and you as the—" Jackson started to say but Liam pushed him off the bed.  
"See, this is why I like you," Stiles chuckled, ruffling Liam's hair. "Anyway..."

 

"They'll dance with jingtinglers tied onto their heels.

They'll blow their floofloovers. They'll bang their tartookas.  
They'll blow their whohoopers. They'll bang their gardookas.

They'll spin their trumtookas. They'll slam their slooslunkas.  
They'll beat their blumbloopas. They'll wham their whowonkas.

And they'll play noisy games like zoozittacarazy,  
A roller-skate type of lacrosse and croquet!

And then they'll make ear-splitting noises galooks  
On their great big electro-whocarnio flooks

Then the people, young and old, will sit down to a feast  
And they'll feast! And they'll feast! And they'll feast! Feast! Feast! Feast!

They'll feast on plum pudding, and the rarest of Kobe beef  
Raw Kobe beef is a feast I can't stand in the least!

And then they'll do something I hate most of all!  
Everyone down in Beacon Hills, the tall and the small

They'll stand close together, with Christmas bells ringing  
They'll stand hand-in-hand, and they'll start singing

 

"Mówią do pasterzy  
Którzy trzód swych strzegli  
Aby do Betlejem  
Czym prędzej pobiegli  
Bo się narodził Zbawiciel  
Wszego świata Odkupiciel  
Gloria, gloria, gloria  
In excelsis Deo"

 

And they'll sing! And they'll sing! And they'll sing! Sing! Sing! Sing!"

And the more the Sourwolf thought of this whole Christmas sing  
The more the Sourwolf thought, "I must stop this whole thing!

Why, for twenty-three years, I've put up with it now!  
I must stop Christmas from coming! But how?"

Then he got an idea! An awful idea!  
The Sourwolf got a wonderful, awful idea!

"I know just what to do!" The Sourwolf laughed in his throat.  
"I'll make a quick Santy Claus hat and a coat."

And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great Sourwolf trick!  
With this coat and this hat, I'll look just like Saint Nick!"

 

"You're all aware that for storytelling purposes I have to speak in rhyme and Derek has to sound like a tool, right?" The Pack nodded, eager to hear what happens next. Derek growled quietly. "Quiet or you'll ruin the story."

 

"All I need is a reindeer." The Sourwolf looked around.  
But since reindeer are scarce, there was none to be found

Did that stop the Sourwolf? Hah, the Sourwolf simply said  
"If I can't find a reindeer, I'll make one instead!"

So he took his dog Peter [Derek snorted], and he took some red thread  
And he tied a big horn on top of his head

Then he loaded some bags and an old space heater  
On a ramshackle sleigh and he whistled for Peter

 

"Space heater?" Derek raised an eyebrow.  
"Shut up, it rhymes." Stiles shot back, continuing his story.

 

Then the Sourwolf said "Giddyap!" and the sleigh started down  
Toward the homes where the people lay a-snooze in their town

All their windows were dark. No one knew he was there.  
All the people were dreaming sweet dreams without care.  
When he came to the first little house of the square.

"This is stop number one," the old Sourwolf Claus hissed,  
As he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist

Then he slid down the chimney, a rather tight cramp  
But if Santa could do it, so could the Sourwolf

 

"That doesn't rhyme, though," Erica pointed out.

"Find a word that rhymes with _wolf_ and then enlighten me," he said. "Any more interruptions?" The Pack shook their heads. "Okay."

 

He got stuck only once, for a minute or two  
Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue

Where the little stockings hung all in a row  
"These stockings," he chuckled, "are the first things to go!"

Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most unpleasant,  
Around the whole room, and he took every present!

Pop guns, Game Boys, Lego, and jump ropes!  
Checkerboards, Silly Putty, tea sets, and snowglobes!

And he stuffed them in bags. Then the Sourwolf, very nimbly,  
Stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimney.

 

"Don't even!" Stiles pointed at Scott, who opened his mouth to correct Stiles. "I work with what I got."

 

Then he slunk to the icebox. He took the people's feast!  
He took the plum pudding! He took the Kobe beef!

He cleaned out that icebox as quick as a flash!  
Why, that Sourwolf even took the last can of corned beef hash!

Then he stuffed all the food up the chimney with glee.  
"Now," grinned the Sourwolf, "I will stuff up the tree!"

As the Sourwolf took the tree, as he started to shove,  
He heard a small sound, like the coo of a dove.

He turned around fast and saw to his surprise,  
Little Stiles and Scott McCall, who were no more than five.

They stared at the Sourwolf and said, "Santy Claus, why,  
Why are you taking our Christmas tree, why?"

But, you know, that old Sourwolf was so smart and so slick,  
He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!

"Why, my sweet little tots," the fake Santy Claus lied,  
"There's a light on this tree that won't light on one side.

So I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear  
I'll fix it up there, then I'll bring it back here."

Stiles whispered to Scott "Him I don't believe."  
Scott looked his big brown eyes at the Sourwolf, before beginning to heave.

At the speed of the boy's breathing,  
The Sourwolf slipped up the chimney, quickly leaving.

He moved on to the next house, where he had no trouble,  
But found that here they had double

"Must be a big family," the Sourwolf mumbled.  
He got all the presents and food and tree, and very barely stumbled

House to house, the Sourwolf went, taking everything in sight  
Peter followed obediently, although deep down, he knew it wasn't right

 

"I like your version better," Isaac smiled. Stiles beamed and ran his fingers through Liam's hair as he went on.

 

It was quarter of dawn, all the folks still a-bed,  
All the people still a-snooze, when he packed up his sled,

Packed it up with presents, their ribbons, their wrappings  
Their snoof and their fuzzles, their tringlers and trappings

Five thousand feet up, up the side of Discovery Peak  
He rode with his load to the tiptop, with chaos to wreak

"Pooh-pooh to the townsfolk!" He was nastily humming.  
"They're finding out now that no Christmas is coming!

They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!  
Their mouths will hang open a minute or two  
Then the folk down in Beacon Hills will all cry boo-hoo!

That's a noise," grinned the Sourwolf, "that I simply must hear!"  
He paused, and the Sourwolf put a hand to his ear.

And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.  
It started in low, then it started to grow

 

"Mówią do pasterzy  
Którzy trzód swych strzegli  
Aby do Betlejem  
Czym prędzej pobiegli  
Bo się narodził Zbawiciel  
Wszego świata Odkupiciel  
Gloria, gloria, gloria  
In excelsis Deo"

 

But this sound wasn't sad!  
Why, this sounded glad!

Every person down in Beacon Hills, the tall and the small,  
Was singing without any presents at all!

He hadn't stopped Christmas from coming! It came!  
Somehow or other, it came just the same!

And the Sourwolf, with his paws ice-cold in the snow,  
Stood puzzling and puzzling. "How could it be so?

It came without ribbons! It came without tags!  
It came without packages, boxes, or bags!"

He puzzled and puzzed till his puzzler was sore.  
Then the Sourwolf thought of something he hadn't before.

Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store.  
Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more!

And what happened then? Well, in Beacon Hills, they say  
That the Sourwolf's emotional state was resolved that day!

And then the true meaning of Christmas came through,  
And the Sourwolf found the strength of ten Sourwolves, plus two!

And now that his head didn't feel quite so tight,  
He whizzed with his load through the bright morning light.

With a smile to his soul, he descended the ridge  
All who looked could only see the smidge

He rode into Beacon Hills. He brought back their toys.  
He brought back their floof to the little girls and boys.

He brought back their snoof and their tringlers and fuzzles  
Brought back their tea sets, their dafflers and wuzzles.

He brought everything back, all the food for the feast!  
And he, he himself, the Sourwolf, carved the Kobe beef!

Welcome Christmas, bring your cheer,  
Cheer to all folks, far and near

Christmas Day is in our grasp  
So long as we have hands to grasp

Christmas Day will always be  
Just as long as we have we

Welcome Christmas while we stand  
Heart to heart and hand in hand."

 

 

Stiles sighed and leaned back against his pillows. "The end." Allison and Lydia cuddled close, near where Scott and Isaac were. "What'd you guys think?"

"Question." Scott raised his hand. "What was that you were singing? Is it Polish?" Stiles nodded. "What does it mean?"

"It's a Polish Christmas carol," Stiles explained. "Years ago, we sung it every Christmas. It means,

" _Mówią do pasterzy_ – They say to the shepherds  
_Którzy trzód swych strzegli_ – Who were watching their flocks  
_Aby do Betlejem_ – To run to Bethlehem  
_Czym prędzej pobiegli_ – As quick as possible  
_Bo się narodził Zbawiciel_ – 'Cause the Savior is born  
_Wszego świata Odkupiciel_ – The Redeemer of the whole world  
_Gloria, gloria, gloria_  
_In excelsis Deo_ – Glory to God in the highest."  
"Can we get back to where you always cast Derek as the villain in your stories? Like the Sea Wolf in The Little Mermaid, or the Warlock in Rapunzel." Stiles huffed and Liam pushed Jackson off the bed again. "You do that again, twerp, and..."

  


"Watch it, Jackson," Stiles warned. "Let's not forget who's better at hand-to-hand combat." Jackson flushed and said no more. "Okay, pups, time for bed." They all looked up at Stiles, pouting slightly. "In your own beds. Or you can mate or whatever in whoever else's bed. Just not this one! Not tonight. Little Red needs his Big Bad Wolf." Stiles wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and they all scrambled off the bed. Each of them—Scott, Isaac, Jackson, Liam, Allison, Lydia, Boyd, and Erica—gave Stiles and Derek goodnight kisses and left the room, Scott being the last to leave. He gave Stiles a smile and shut the door.

"Now, about me being an emotionally constipated man who doesn't know how to use his words, that's quite descriptive, don't you think?" Derek tugged his shirt off and looked over at Stiles, who grinned sheepishly.

"It's good storytelling, huh?" Stiles said. Derek easily lifted Stiles off the bed and held the teenager up by the front of his shirt. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not going to use my words," Derek smirked. He proceeded to unzip Stiles' red hoodie. His eyes flashed red and he growled deep in his throat.

"Oh, hell."


End file.
